Insanity
by winter machine
Summary: Rachael's 2012 birthday story, in three parts. Some define insanity as doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. Set after this season's finales, Mark moves to Los Angeles to recover while Addison plans her wedding. She's accepted Sam's proposal, so there's no reason Mark's presence in California should be a problem for anyone. Right?
1. Chapter 1

**_A birthday present for the incomparable Rachael, in response to her prompt (which I'll reveal at the end of the story). Happy birthday, Rachael! You are fabulous and deserve great things and, at the very least, you deserve any story you want on the anniversary of your birth. _**

* * *

**_INSANITY_**

_Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. _(Attributed to Albert Einstein)

* * *

Mark moves down there for the sunshine. He calls her to say _I almost died today _and she holds Henry close and winces into the phone and remembers how fragile life can be. His injuries need therapy and time and they don't need the dampness of Seattle. There's a shoulder expert at St. Sebastian's, there's a gorgeous rental on the beach, and everything makes sense until she explains it to Sam.

"Why L.A.?"

"I told you."

Sam frowns, reaches for Henry and she hands him over. "I think you already have a lot to focus on."

"I'm not going to operate on him, Sam," she laughs. "He's not pregnant. It's just that this is the best place for him to recover."

"He's not moving in with us," Sam calls after her, and she laughs again.

"You have nothing to worry about," she tells him, warms Henry's bottle and reaches for her son. Sam reaches for the bottle instead and she lets him do the feeding. She smiles at her two boys, twists the diamond on her left hand. She's so lucky.

He looks thin when she sees him, too thin. There are bandages and he's greying more around the temples than she remembers. She hugs him carefully. She knows about Lexie, knows about Derek's hand, about Arizona's injuries. She knows everything so he doesn't need to tell her, that's what she reassures him.

He says _thank you _and tries to smile. Then he sees Henry and his smile turns real.

"You're a mother," he says quietly.

She turns her face up to him. His eyes look soft, faraway.

_"You're punishing me because I wanted the baby? That's it?"_

_"I'm leaving. Don't act like you're surprised, Mark-"_

_"I want you to stay!"_

_"No, you wanted the baby."_

_"Not just the baby, Addison."_

_"No." She shakes her head, hard. He reaches for her but she brushes him aside. "I should never have - you haven't changed. You can't think past your next lay."_

_"That's not true. You're the one treating me like - two months and you're done? That's it?"_

_"Richard said Derek's seeing someone, in Seattle-"_

_He raises his voice, and she flinches. "You're seeing someone here!" _

_"I - I want to talk to him, Mark. He's my husband."_

_"If he wanted to talk to you, he'd return your calls."_

_"Can you blame him? After what we did?"_

_Mark looks grim. "Yeah. I can blame him."_

_"Mark-"_

_"Addison, come on. Don't run away. Stay here, where you belong, and we can fix this-"_

_She snorts. "That's rich."_

_"Is this because of Char-"_

_"Don't say her name," she snaps._

_"I'm sorry, Addison, I told you I was sorry. You're married, okay? You cheat on me every goddamned day you stay married to that-"_

_"Don't talk about him either!" She knows she sounds irrational but can't help it._

_"You're going to protect Derek now? You think he'd do the same for you?"_

_"I guess I'm going to find out."_

_"Don't do this, Addison."_

_"I'm going," she insists._

_"Addison-"_

_She closes the door behind her, harder than she needs to, wants him to remember her straight-backed and angry because she's not going to cry. She presses her forehead to the wall next to the elevators, says good-bye to this hall. _

_Part of her wishes he'd follow, but as her steps echo - alone - on the damp sidewalk, she knows he won't. He hurt her and she thinks she might hate him but he's Mark. He doesn't push her._

_She does cry, though. She cries for him, surprised at the amount of naked sadness. Or maybe it's for everything: the future they won't have, the past she's screwed up, and the missing piece of both of them. She cries walking home, in the rain, and when thunder cracks overhead it feels like the sky is crying too. She cries in the shower, hot water pounding against her flushed skin, and tries to forget the last time he took her in there, her back against creamy marble, her heels digging into his thighs. She cries in bed, holding a pillow to the emptiness in her midsection. _

_And then, as Montgomeries do, she stops. She washes her face, ices her swollen eyes, applies careful layers of makeup. Silk, fur, heels. Door, stoop, taxi. By the time she gets to JFK her face is an icy mask, just the way she likes it. By the time the wheels touch down in Seattle, she can't feel anything at all. _

Sam asks: "Does he need to come over so often?"

Addison just shrugs. Mark has a rental apartment and Addison has a beach house. Mark has injuries that scare her when she sees them and Addison has a rosy-cheeked infant who makes everyone smile. Sam should understand, because among them they have twenty years of history.

Mark falls asleep on the couch and Addison covers him with a blanket. He wakes up screaming and she drives him to the practice, introduces him to Sheldon. They take drives because walking makes him tired. He tells her about Lexie and she listens. They sit in the sand, once, his head in her lap, and when he cries she cries too. Whatever else she was she was a doctor and a younger women than Addison and she shouldn't have died in a forest while Mark watched. He goes to see Sheldon again. Then he starts going regularly.

He's happiest when Henry's around, so he and Addison walk him often on the beach. He misses Sofia, Addison knows this. Callie's going to bring her for a visit, once Arizona's stronger. Mark could fly back but he's hesitant.

She drives him to physical therapy, encourages him to call Derek. _He must miss you. _They call together. Derek's in surgery, and they share a smile because nothing really changes even when everything does.

"Do you want to fly back?" she asks when he's been living in Los Angeles for three months. He declines, says the flight's too long and his joints will get too stiff. It's a catch-22: he's too weak to fly commercial and too healthy to be medevac'd. Or so he says.

They watch Henry gurgling with pleasure on a beach towel, waving chubby feet in the air.

"You're working less," he observes and she tells him about what it's like to spend time with Henry, how lucky she feels that she can have a flexible schedule, enough time to breathe in every last sweet baby scent in his ever-thickening hair, to see how he responds to mashed bananas, to the puppy he sees on the beach, to Amelia's welcoming embrace.

There's a note of longing in his voice; she knows he's anxious to be able to work again. The injuries to his chest and back are improving steadily, she knows this. Physical therapy is making him stronger again. She knows he's getting better when, six months in, he meets Charlotte for lunch. She sees them at the hospital, raises her eyebrows at Charlotte.

"I always told him there was a place for him here," Charlotte shrugs.

"I'm not in fighting form," Mark mutters, and Addison knows it takes a lot for him to say that.

"So get there," Charlotte snaps. "And don't take all day about it. I have a hospital to run." And she stalks off on impossibly high heels.

Addison and Mark both watch her walk away.

"I like her," Mark says finally. Addison swats him with the patient file she's holding.

"Not like that," he says hurriedly, and she smiles at him, deciding she'll know he's truly all better when he does like Charlotte - or someone else - _like that. _

He's leaving an appointment with Sheldon just as she exits Cooper's office with Henry in her arms, fresh from his nine-month well child visit. Henry's sulking from his shots, and Addison's cooing to him and doesn't see Mark until she bumps directly into him. He grasps her arms, steadying her and Henry, and she pulls back nervously. "Did I hurt you?"

"_No,_" he says sharply. Then, in a more even tone: "Addison, I'm fine."

She looks at Henry, anywhere but at Mark.

"Physically anyway. Look, just - I'm not made of glass. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Can I hold him?" he asks. She nods and he reaches out his arms, waiting for Henry to respond. Henry looks up, smiles a gummy baby smile interrupted with brand new teeth, and reaches chubby arms out in return. They walk to Addison's car in companionable silence.

Henry's tired so they end up at Addison's house, putting him down for a nap while Mark orders takeout. They take the baby monitor to the patio and watch the waves. Addison gets updated on physical therapy and on Sofia, and Mark - wincing only slightly - gets updated on wedding plans.

"Don't you have any girlfriends you can talk to about this?"

"I'm marrying my best friend's ex-husband," she deadpans, and they both laugh, breaking the tension.

They eat pad thai and sip wine while the sun sinks into the sea. Addison realizes, after Mark leaves and she's rinsing the wine glasses and checking on a sleeping Henry, that she hasn't spent this much time with Mark in years. Not without an agenda or an emergency. Not casually or organically, the way it is now. It reminds her, she realizes, of the time in New York before their affair started, when he'd drop by the brownstone or take her to dinner after work. The rhythm is gentle, with no pressure, and she's both grateful and surprised. Whatever it means - that they've grown up, that they've grown over each other - it must be right.

Callie flies down with Sofia. She's impressed with Mark's progress, and Henry is impressed with Sofia. He's crawling now, never faster than when Sofia toddles through the house or across the patio.

"They're cute together." Callie slides onto one of the deck chairs, crosses her long legs. She has a glass of wine in her hand, a relaxed smile on her face.

Sofia's climbing all over Mark, and he brushes off both Callie and Addison when they warn him to be careful.

"Daddy better," Sofia pronounces.

"That's right, sweetheart." Mark sweeps her onto his lap and when Henry crawls closer he leans down - if it hurts his ribs there's no indication - and scoops Henry onto his other knee. Henry reaches for a fistful of Sofia's dark hair.

"Oh, I have to get a picture of this." Callie fiddles with her iPhone. "They're going to go crazy over it in Seattle." She snaps a few shots, then shoots Addison an amused look. "Mark's still disgustingly photogenic, I see."

Addison can't help smiling.

"You get in now, Addie."

"Me?"

"Yeah, get in there." Callie motions her toward the couch.

Addison glances around uncertainly. "I don't think I-"

"Hurry up, my fingers are getting tired."

Addison settles on the couch a foot or so away from the three of them. Henry turns to her with a wide smile on his face and she can't resist planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Oh, perfect!" Callie claps her hands. "But I couldn't get everyone in. Move closer."

Addison inches over.

"Closer, Addie!" Callie gestures impatiently.

Sighing, Addison slides all the way over until she's sitting up against Mark's warm bulk. At Callie's glare, Mark lifts one arm and Addison, not immune to the glare either, tucks herself under it.

"Much better." Callie takes a few more pictures. "This one's a keeper."

_"Why are you here?"_

_"For one reason: to take you home."_

_The words haunt her. She sits on the trailer's excuse for a couch, a blanket around her legs, a cup of tea in her hands. Neither trick is working to warm her. Derek's asleep but she knows better than to try to crawl under the covers with him for warmth. Maybe it isn't warmth she wants, it's something to grasp onto her. The blanket, holding her down. The tea, grounding her. Because if she's honest with herself - and oh god, how hard she has to try sometimes not to be - it's killing her not to be at Joe's right now. He's sitting there alone, waiting for her. He's Mark: he doesn't push her. He's not going to come to the trailer and grab her, sweep her back to New York with him. He'll wait for her and he'll hope and she'll hurt him again. _

_"Addie?"_

_She glances over, trying to keep the hope out of her voice. Derek's up, sleepy-eyed, his head lifted off the pillow. He's actually noticed she's awake. Maybe he sees how she's struggling, how sorry she is that Mark's coming out here hurt Derek. Maybe he'll ask her if she's okay, or even tell her that he loves her - he hasn't done that yet, and -_

_"You didn't turn off the stove light."_

_"Oh." She glances toward the tiny kitchen. "Sorry, I'll-"_

_But his head is already back on the pillow, eyes closed._

_She swallows tea and wishes she could cry. But she knows the rule: tears should be shed only in the privacy of one's own home. And this is not her home. _

Mark's a little down after Callie and Sofia leave. She's finding herself more attuned to his moods these days - maybe it's because she sees him so often; he's at the practice, meeting with Sheldon. Or he's at St. Ambrose, slowly starting to build a temporary practice even as he builds up his own strength. She's going to miss having him around, she can admit. His lease will be up in a few months. He'll go back to Seattle and they'll see each other less than sometimes. Emergencies or - maybe she'll invite him to the wedding.

Maybe.

She walks with him on the beach one evening - it's good for his legs, the uneven texture of the sand strengthening his muscles without straining them. He walks barefoot so she does too.

"How was your walk?" Sam's holding Henry in one arm and his blackberry in the other when she gets back.

"It was nice." She holds her arms out for Henry and he reaches for her, giggling that baby laugh that slays her every time.

"Mark's been over here a lot."

She balances Henry on her hip, busies herself smoothing his little shirt along his back while she ponders Sam's comment. "Well, Callie was staying with us," she says finally. "And I think he misses Sofia, so he-"

"Henry's not a replacement for Sofia."

She frowns. "I know that, but-"

"Has he tried anything?"

"_Tried _anything? Sam, what?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind. I'm a patient man, Addison, but please let's not make things any harder."

She's genuinely confused. "Sam, I don't-"

"Never mind." He takes Henry from her arms and kisses his cheek. "I'll put him to sleep so you can shower." His gaze skates over her - she's in a tank top and running shorts - "-and maybe slip into something a little less comfortable."

She would have liked to put Henry down herself - she missed him today and she loves hearing his sweet sleepy breathing as he drifts off - but she's grateful for Sam's help and knows things would be a lot harder without it.

"Are you upset with me?" She asks tentatively when he's climbing into bed next to her. She's pulled the covers up to her chin.

"No, baby, why do you ask?"

"Because - well -" but she doesn't want to borrow trouble so she casts him a sideways smile and lowers the silk sheet just enough to show him that she's not wearing anything beyond a pair of white silk panties. His eyes widen with surprise, then approval, and then everything disappears as he rolls on top of her and she lets him remind her just how good to her he can be.

Mark's over later in the week; she puts Henry to bed while he takes a call on the patio. His body language through the glass door screams _good news_ and she heads outside as soon as he hangs up.

"What's going on?"

"That was Callie." Mark's smiling, the broad grin of someone who can't help himself. _Oh, I recognize that look._

"What did she say?" Addison prompts.

"Arizona got an offer at Children's Memorial. Callie kept saying she didn't like what the dampness was doing to her joints, and they're taking it. They're moving here."

Addison's mouth drops open. "They are? That's - Mark, that's incredible!"

She hugs him without thinking about it, and he hugs her back. His arms feel so familiar. Part of her wishes she could stay.

"So that means-"

"It means I'm not going anywhere." He releases her and she takes a step back.

He's staying.

"Addison?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know a good realtor?"


	2. Chapter 2

Permanent looks different from temporary. It looks like a house on the beach a short walk from hers -

("Seriously?" Sam asked.

But Addison laughed: "I recommended the same realtor both of us used - I guess this is her prime area!")

- and a flurry of moving plans. Callie flies down again and she helps both of them look for a place.

("Arizona loves Mark, but we're not living with him. That would be too much togetherness - for all of us.")

She and Callie are in the living room now laughing over a Crate & Barrel catalogue - _I want the kind of furniture the kids can chew on, _Callie said and Addison felt a tingle of pleasure, of belonging, that these two babies, Sofia and Henry, were going to be _the kids_ - when she notices Sam standing by the windows, arms folded.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He smiles. Not with his eyes. "You're doing a lot of planning, I see."

"We're moving down here," Callie says slowly, as if he's hard of hearing, and Addison kicks her with one bare foot.

"Don't you have something else you might want to plan?"

Addison looks at him blankly, then jumps. "Oh! Of course, Sam. When we have more time -"

"It's been almost eight months."

Callie looks from one to the other of them uncomfortably, and Addison is reminded of her words.

_It's not that I don't like him, I'm just not sure I like him for you._

"Sam, can we discuss this later? Alone?"

"Sure," he says. "Okay. It's just - hard to find time... alone." He says the last word pointedly and Callie raises her eyebrows, getting the message.

Addison stands up, annoyed, letting the catalogue fall to the couch.

"Can I see you in the kitchen for a second?"

Sam backs obligingly into the kitchen - Callie, she can see, has tactfully turned back to the catalogue.

"Sam, of course I want to plan our wedding, but please don't make my friend feel unwelcome," she whispers. "She's been through a lot."

"Yes. I know that. She's been through a lot. She and Mark. It's all I've heard about for the last eight months."

"That's not true."

"Maybe you should let them deal with this hard time they're having and focus a little more on us."

"I'm focused on us."

"I mean Henry and me."

She draws back, surprised and hurt. "I am certainly focused on Henry!"

He shrugs. "If you say so. Who's put him to bed more often the last few weeks?"

"That's not-"

"And who's been taking him to baby gym?"

"Sam, you offered to-"

"If you're so distracted by having them move here, by all of this - well, I don't know, Addison, maybe you weren't ready for a child."

It feels like a slap. When she manages to respond, her voice is shaking. "That is totally unfair and you know it. I am a good mother."

"You're distracted."

"I am a good mother, Sam!"

"Look, I'm, uh - I'm just going to go."

Addison jumps at Callie's interruption. "No, Cal, don't be silly. We're done here."

"Addie, I don't mind."

"We're done," she repeats firmly, and with one last glance at Sam - who looks unrepentant and annoyingly handsome in the dim light - she takes Callie's arm and leads her onto the deck to finish their discussion of furnishings.

Callie doesn't bring it up until the next day, when Henry's asleep and they're drinking wine. Sam's at the hospital, and they're curled up on the couch with the baby monitor between them.

"So, last night - what the hell was that?"

"Hm?'

"I mean, is he always such a dick?"

Addison splutters around a mouthful of merlot. "Don't hold back, Callie."

"Don't worry, I won't." Callie rolls her shoulders slightly, releasing obvious tension. "Are you - happy with him?"

"Of course I'm happy."

"Addison."

"I'm happy, Callie. I'm engaged." She holds out her left hand until Callie nods with a minimum of enthusiasm. "I feel lucky, you know? He didn't want kids, and then he fell in love with Henry."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Is he in love with you?"

Addison frowns. "Of course."

"Don't get me wrong, Addie, it's swell that he loves your kid and I know single parenting is a drag. But hell, you can pay someone to put Henry to bed a few nights a week and get a lot less grief."

"That's not fair. He's not usually - he's a great guy, Callie."

"So you say, but I'm not seeing it. I'm sorry, Addison, I'm just not."

Addison leans back against the cushions. It's not Callie's fault, she doesn't really _know _Sam, but it still hurts. "It's just that having Mark around is stressful for him."

"Because of what you and Mark have."

"Had," Addison corrects her.

"Yeah." Callie's dark eyes don't meet hers. "Right, had."

"Everything's going to be okay once you and Arizona move down here with Sofia. Once Mark's busier with you guys and Sam feels more secure. And I'll have more time to plan the wedding. I was actually hoping-" she looks down for a moment "-that you'd be my maid of honor."

"Oh, Addie-"

"We can pick out something fabulous for you to wear. Nothing like what I put Nai and Savvy through in ninety-four. And Sofia can be the flower girl. Little white dress, maybe some peonies. What do you think?"

"I think-" Callie's mouth opens and closes a few times as if she's not sure what to say. Finally she murmurs: "I think I'm flattered and I love you and yes, Addie, we'll do whatever you want for the wedding."

Addison throws her arms around her friend and they share about three seconds of an embrace before the baby monitor between them erupts in a wail.

In the nursery, she lifts a crying Henry out of his crib - Sam wants to Ferberize him but Addison's explained several times that things are different now; it's not the 90s and she doesn't want her son crying it out. Sam's not home, so she's free to cuddle Henry close, settle with him in the glider and remind him how much he's loved. She's not much of a singer but she can make it through lullabies for Henry. He likes the Beatles - _Blackbird _and _Let It Be_. He's tired tonight; she's barely a few lines in -

_all your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive_

_- _when his head sinks heavily into her breast and his breathing deepens. He smells of the organic baby powder she likes, redolent of lavender and something else soft and sweet. His skin is warm through his terry sleeper. She thinks of him crawling, of Sofia toddling, and how little time he'll be this small. She cuddles his sleeping warmth closer and lowers her voice, but doesn't stop singing.

Morning's bright - sometimes too bright. She blinks in the sunlight, passes Sam a cup of coffee - light and sweet - and Mark his typical black.

"Are you still drinking that fake sweetener?" Mark asks, taking a swallow and glancing at Addison's cup. "Thanks," he adds, almost as an afterthought, and she rolls her eyes.

"Privileged information." She moves her mug away from him. "Don't be so judgmental." She's in a good mood - it's sunny and breezy with the doors flung open, a noticeably gorgeous day in a town filled with them. Henry is fed and happy, banging rhythmically on the tray of his high chair with a polished wooden rattle. She and Sam are finally moving ahead with wedding planning and are going to look at a venue on the beach today while Mark watches Henry. Sam's in a good mood too, and she regrets not moving sooner on the wedding planning thing. He just needs to know that she loves him as much as he loves her - that's not asking too much, is it?

"Call if anything comes up. _Anything._"

She kisses Henry and he responds by yanking on a strand of her hair. "Ow. What are you trying to tell me, sweetie?"

"I think he's saying go already and let him have some fun with Uncle Mark."

She seems Sam's eyebrows lift at _Uncle Mark,_ decides there's too much testosterone in the room at this point, and ushers Sam out the door.

The beach venue is beautiful but she sees Sam moving impatiently from foot to foot as she asks the wedding liaison questions. _What's wrong,_ she mouths.

"I have a surgery at eleven." He glances at his watch. "How long is this going to take?"

"Not much longer, I guess." She's confused. "I thought you wanted to -"

"Can you just finish up here?"

"Sure." She lets him kiss her goodbye, still slightly confused as she watching him walk away.

"Wedding tension." The liaison nods knowingly. "We see it so often."

She smiles uncomfortable. _Is that what this is? _

"So then he just went back to the hospital." She glances at Mark. "He said he had a surgery at eleven, but he hadn't told me before. I thought he _wanted _to look at that venue."

Mark doesn't say anything, just nods and refills her wine glass. She's taken the whole day off, thinking the wedding planning would take more time, and now she and Mark are settled outside in opposite lounge chairs, sipping wine while Henry plays happily on the colorful mat she's spread across the patio.

She takes another sip, sees him looking at her. "What?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head.

"Mark, if you want to say something, just say it."

"I want to say a lot of things."

"Mark-"

"It's just that this sounds-" he pauses. "A little familiar. It sounds a little familiar, Addie, that's all."

She frowns. "It's not - like that. It's not. He wants this, you know? I just don't know why he's acting this way."

"But it makes you feel like-" he glances down at Henry. "Like crap."

"Yeah," she nods slowly. "But so what?"

For some reason, he looks sad.

_"I thought you guys were going to the country this weekend."_

_"Yeah." She sets her plate in the sink, a little harder than necessary. It's their wedding china, and it's sturdier than it looks, but nothing's unbreakable. "I thought so too."_

_"What happened?"_

_She pours a glass of wine. "He had a surgery."_

_"I thought he cleared-" Mark interrupts himself this time. "Sorry, I get it. So why don't you go?"_

_"Alone?"_

_"Why not?"_

_"You know I don't like driving out there on Fridays. And anyway-" she gestures at the wine._

_"One glass? You? You're a Montgomery. You have more than that just naturally coursing through your bloodstream at any given time." _

_She laughs in spite of herself, then swipes her hand across her eyes, hating herself for letting this bother her._

_"I'll drive if you want."_

_She glances up. "You will?"_

_"Sure."_

_"But you hate the Hamptons."_

_"Derek hates the Hamptons," he corrects her. "He and I are different, you know."_

_"Yeah." She takes another swallow of wine, feels it warm her. "Yeah, I know."_

_He drives - or, as he'll tease her when they get there, he drives and she backseat drives. She fiddles with the radio, kicks off her flip-flops, feels more relaxed than she has in weeks. Derek was still in surgery but she left him a voicemail. _

Come out tomorrow if you can, _she said on the message. _I'll pick you up from the Jitney. I'll make us a picnic. And I hope the surgery went well, and I - I'll see you soon, honey, okay?

_There's traffic on the expressway, there's always traffic, but it seems less irritating when Mark's driving. They lower the windows and drink in the breeze and make faces at the trucks clogging the left lane. When the radio bores them they turn it down and sing instead, taking turns mocking each other and remembering that one karaoke bar - no, wait, the other one - in medical school. Addison's doing a credible Pat Benatar impression in between fits of laughter when her phone rings._

_"Derek, hi!" She beams into the phone. "We're still on the LIE, it's a total parking lot, and - oh, okay. I'm glad it went well. Yeah, I understand. Okay. Love you." She folds the phone shut with a click. _

_"He's not coming out tomorrow," Mark guesses._

_"Well, he has aftercare, so..." she trails off._

_Mark looks sorry, for a minute, and then she's sorry too. She's lost momentum for a moment and then Mark touches her leg gently. "How's your Madonna?" he asks and by the second song she's smiling again. How does he do that - make her feel welcome? Make her feel like he wants her around? She's exhausted with at least forty-five minutes to go and he encourages her to close her eyes._

_"But you might need-"_

_"Directions? I've been here a hundred times."_

_"I'm not that tired."_

_"You had two surgeries today."_

_"And you-"_

_"Had one consultation." He shrugs his Mark shrug, his I-can't-help-being-so-great shrug, the one that usually makes her smile. "Close your eyes. If you want to," he adds._

_She wakes up at the sound of gravel crunching, as they roll into the driveway. She was dreaming, she thinks, something about the lake and a boat and for a minute she forgets where she is. Her eyes drift open slowly and there are warm blue eyes near hers. She swallows, mouth dry. _

_"We made it," she observes and he just gives her a tired half-smile - he's had a long day too, even if he won't admit it - and helps her carry her bags into the house. _

_He convinces her to take a walk on the beach and she says yes even though the couch is calling out to her._

_She leaves her flip flops at the back of the house, enjoying the cool sand on her bare feet. She feels pleasantly naked without a shoulder bag or even a wallet. She carries her phone though, and fiddles with it a few times as they walk, opening and closing it, checking it as subtly as she can for messages. _

_One time, she catches Mark watching her. His eyes say he knows exactly what she was doing._

_"You deserve better," he says quietly._

_It's not something she agrees with. "No. You don't - I'm not so great," she mumbles, grateful it's dark enough that he can't analyze her expression. "Derek is - yeah, I get it, and things aren't ideal right now, but I'm not exactly a model wife."_

_"What's wrong with you?"_

_"I - nag, you know. I get upset at things and - hold grudges. You know. Stuff like that."_

_"That's doesn't sound so bad."_

_"You're not married to me."_

_"No." He turns and looks away, at the ocean. "I'm not."_

_"We're going to get through this rough patch," she says bravely. _

_"Of course you are." He turns back to her, a reassuring smile glinting white in the moonlight. "You're Addison and Derek."_

"Beige?" Callie bellows.

Addison holds the phone away from her ear.

"Didn't you say 'free reign'?"

"Yes, I did. I thought you were going to pick a color, not the international symbol of middle age."

Addison rolls her eyes. "Beige is beautiful. And you will look beautiful in it."

"Is that even a color?"

"Yes! Look, I said I'd send you a fabric sample."

"Sure. And if I don't like it, I'll just wrap myself up in some hospital curtains. Those are beige too, right?"

"Cal, you're going to look gorgeous."

"That's what they always say."

"Did you see the design for Sofia's dress?"

"I did. That one's legitimately beautiful. White's her color. Of course, I haven't offered her the option of _beige, _so-"

"Callie!"

"Sorry. Come on, Addie, you know I'm kidding around. I'll wear a Motel 6 bedspread if it makes you happy."

"Thank you," she says primly.

"What about _your _dress?"

"Well. Charlotte came with me to a fitting last week-"

"Charlotte." Callie pauses. "The sex doctor toothpick? _That_ Charlotte?"

"She has excellent taste-"

"I don't care how excellent her taste is, you do _not_ go to a dress fitting with a Lilliputian. Not if you want to maintain any self-esteem."

Addison laughs in spite of herself. "I did feel a little like a giant."

"That's because she's approximately the size of your bridal bouquet. Come on, Addie. At least go shopping with someone a little sturdier, like -" she pauses. "Is she coming to the wedding?"

Naomi.

"Yeah, she is, actually. Welcome to the twenty-first century and all that. Oh, and my - future - step-granddaughter is the other flower girl, as you know."

"She's a cutie."

"And Maya hasn't complained about the beige."

"Maya's what, nineteen? She probably thinks beige is a color."

Addison laughs in spite of herself. "You're not exactly an easy Maid of Honor, you know that?"

"Well, we're appointed for life. Like supreme court justices. So get used to me."

Addison's in a much better mood when she hangs up the phone. She wasn't upset before - not exactly - but Sam's had late surgeries the last three nights. She knows he's trying to build a practice - it's not easy breaking back into heart surgery - but after pressuring her to plan the wedding more enthusiastically, he hasn't exactly been overly involved.

She dashes off a quick email to him that she'd charitably consider a white lie - _talked to Callie and Maya and they both love the fabric. _

She's considering deleting _love _and writing _like, _then kicking herself for thinking he cares about that level of detail, when her doorbell rings.

"Hi," she says, somewhat surprised, pulling open the door.

Mark's holding a box of pizza, which inescapably makes him look like the scruffy early 90s incarnation of himself, the one who pulled all-nighters in the library and then picked up girls at the local watering hole.

"I didn't order anything."

"Neither did I," he counters. "This town is weird, okay? I went to Marcello's _one time_, and the kid hostessing had obvious hormonal acne that you could just tell she was treating as cystic and she was going to screw up her skin. I knew that derm rotation would come in handy. Gave her a little advice and now I get free pizzas without warning. No matter how often I tell them to stop. Oh, and her skin looks great." He says all this with one breath then stops and smiles at her.

"Please tell me you didn't sleep with her."

"Jesus, Addison, she's like fifteen."

"With her mother then."

"_No, _I didn't."

"Older sister? Young aunt?"

"Do you want pizza or not?"

It smells heavenly, it's that place that uses homemade mozzarella and to-die-for fresh basil so she sighs heavily, pulls the door wider, and gestures him inside.

"Sam home?" he asks casually.

"Nope." She grabs plates, silverware, a bottle of wine, scoops the baby monitor off the kitchen counter and sets up the table on the patio. Mark follows her with the pizza.

It's rich and delicious. She dabs grease from her mouth. "This is pretty good," she admits.

"Well, maybe one of the servers will get knocked up, and you can offer some advice and get your own free pizza hookup - ouch!" he winces as she tosses her cloth napkin in his direction.

She picks up the baby monitor, watches a green-screen version of Henry breathing peacefully. Mark looks over her shoulder.

"He's getting big."

"His crawling is out of control." Addison laughs. "He's so mobile that it kind of freaks me out. I don't think I'm ready for walking."

"I know I wasn't." Mark grabs another slice - if he hasn't eaten at least twice as much as she has he's never finished. "Sofe's a rocket now. What's next - bike riding?"

"Driving," Addison winces. "Can you imagine?"

"No. And I don't want to."

"Callie's coming down next week?"

He nods. "For the closing. They won't move for good until next month."

"And they'll be here for the wedding."

They've set the date - finally - and it's three months from the following Saturday. She's been poring over invitations - Bizzy would _die _at how last minute she's been, except that she's already dead and Addison's decided her excellent manners have hurt her more than they've helped her over the years.

"The maid of honor and the flower girl." Mark grins, and grabs yet another slice of pizza, giving Addison a mock hurt expression when she raises her eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing, you just - won't always have that metabolism, you know."

"Probably not." Mark shrugs, and eats half the slice in one go. "But I do now, so why not take advantage of it?"

"Is this going to lead into some kind of seen-the-light seize-the-day lecture?"

"No." He frowns. "But. Since you brought it up, Addie-"

"Don't." She holds up a hand. "We were getting along so well."

He takes a long swallow of wine. "For us, you mean? Or for normal people?"

She laughs in spite of herself. Bickering is normal for them, as normal as the banter that slowly, over the years, turned into flirting and then into something else. But there's something different now, a gentler tone. An ease. She remembers the way they used to fight - the anger was a relief after those last few years of suppressed silence with Derek, but it wasn't easy. It wasn't kind.

_"Goddamn it, Addison, he's not coming back!"_

_"Haven't I done enough?" She yanks her sweater off for something to do with her shaking hands, balls it up - unlike her - and tosses it onto the bed. "I ruined my marriage for you."_

_"Oh, it was for me? You didn't exactly seem unwilling."_

_"Stop it."_

_"He's gone, Addison. Fuck Seattle - he left years ago. But I'm here, so maybe you'd like to think about that before you - where are you going?"_

_"Home." She grabs her sweater again, shoves her arms into it. She doesn't have a home, not exactly, but she has a house where she doesn't have to look at Mark or think about him or wonder how they can possibly think they can actually do this._

_"Don't walk away, Addison."_

_She slams the door behind her and punches the elevator buttons furiously in the hall. It's hard to make a dramatic exit in an apartment building, so she's still pacing in front of the elevator, cursing its slowness, when Mark sticks his head out of his apartment and calls after her._

_"I guess you're not so different from Derek after all, huh, Addie?"_

_It stings, but she's expert at not letting it show. Doesn't even look at him when the elevator door closes. She sleeps alone in the brownstone in one of Mark's shirts. At least, she thinks it's his. She's pretty sure Derek has the same one. The thought of the two of them makes her feel sick. Sick enough to wake at seven doubled over with nausea, to fall to her knees in the master bathroom - then the half-bath in the foyer - and finally at the hospital._

_"I don't want to fight anymore," she says quietly._

_"You look green." His gaze slides over her face. "You sick or something?"_

_Or something._

_"I'm okay." _

_He brings her a ginger ale at that quiet sleepy hour in her office when no one's bothering her, no surgery, and the last bits of sunlight penetrate the wide windows. Then he winces when she reaches for it with her left hand._

_She catches him watching her. The rings. He doesn't seem to understand that they hurt her at least as much as they hurt him. She sips the ginger ale and he leaves her with a kiss to her forehead like the last month never happened. _

It's definitely different now - not the angry outbursts in New York or even the sullen back-and-forth in Seattle. It's quieter. But it's not the resentful silence she remembers from the end of her marriage to Derek, either. It's actually - and she smiles, thinking about this - something a bit healthier. More adult. Perhaps they're finally growing up?

Or maybe it's that they're finally in sync. They've been growing from the beginning, she supposes - she and Mark, and Derek too, but at different paces and times. They'd lag behind one or the other, then lap them without catching up. There's something serene now even in the way they disagree, something mild and respectful that she never quite expected to have. She remembers drinking with the two of them in medical school, shots after the boards, just this side of wasted. _We're adults. When did that happen? _But she thinks maybe it didn't happen until now.

"What?" Mark asks, bringing her back to reality, and she just smiles at him.

"Nothing. Enjoy your metabolism, Mark. Finish the pizza."

"What are you going to do?" He asks suspiciously.

"I'm going to exploit _my _metabolism - and finish the wine."

"I'll drink to that."

Their glasses clink satisfyingly.

They're still laughing when the baby monitor beeps to life, Henry's wails cutting through the starry night.

"Excuse me." Addison pushes back her chair, and walks - to her surprise - directly into Sam in the foyer. He doesn't look happy.

"I didn't know you were home."

"You were busy," he scowls. "Are you too busy to go comfort your son?"

"I was on my way -" she breaks off, not wanting to sound defensive. "You didn't come outside to say hello."

"You looked busy."

"Mark came over-"

"I can see that. And I can hear Henry, crying."

"I'm on my way to get him! I went as soon as the baby monitor went off, Sam, you know that if you were watching-" she stops. He wasn't _watching _them, was he? The thought unnerves her. Upstairs, Henry continues to cry.

"Is this what it's like when Mark's over? You ignore Henry?"

"Sam, you're being ridiculous. I was _on my way._"

"Never mind." Sam inserts his body in front of hers, stalks up the stairs. "Henry and I are fine. You just - go back to your date."

"It's not a date!" she yells after his retreating back, regretting it when Henry cries louder.

She puts her head in her hands for a moment. She's a little tipsy and not sure what happened or when Sam came home, or why she feels guilty. Mark's already cleaned up by the time she gets back to the deck.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for him."

"Well." She looks down at her hands. "Thank you for the pizza."

"Thanks for sharing it." He smiles at her, but his eyes look sad.

"What?" she asks, and doesn't have to say _why do you look sad _because he gets it.

He says simply "You deserve better."

She doesn't respond, just walks him to his car, lingering, because Sam's with Henry and she feels like a bit like an interloper. In her own house.

Then quietly she says: "you're wrong."

"Wrong? That you deserve better? Don't be blind, Addison. _Again_," he adds, half under his breath, and she swallows hard.

"Sam's a great guy."

"So you've told me."

"We've been through a rough road, okay?" She hears the pitch of her voice, almost whining, and tries to tamp it down. "For him to trust me again, after-"

"What?" Mark's voice is loud and she cringes slightly. "What did you do that was so terrible, that he had to, what is it _trust you again, _that he's such a great guy? What?"

"I slept with someone else." The words slide out easily, humiliatingly.

Mark looks surprised. "Recently?"

"No. Last year. Before Sam proposed."

"Sorry, you're saying you slept with someone else before you and Sam got back together?"

"Well, yes, but it was - but it was the same night that he proposed."

"How the hell were you supposed to know he would propose? You were broken up!"

"I didn't, but-"

"Addison." He grips the edge of the car door. "Listen to yourself."

"You don't understand."

"I know you."

"You used to know me!" The outburst surprises her. "It's been seven years since New York, Mark. Four years since you were here last. Things are different now!"

"That's just it." He looks right at her. "They're not different enough."


	3. Chapter 3

Permanent looks like a second house too. Callie and Arizona fly down for the closing and they clink champagne glasses, make plans. Empty walls fill up with drawing and photographs, hardwood floors with child-friendly furniture. Mark's humming when she runs into him in the hospital. He still does PT three times a week but he looks strong, healthy. Almost happy. He catches her in the halls sometimes, asks her how she's doing. Suggests dinner.

She brushes him off gently. It's not that she doesn't want to spend time with him, but things are going well with Sam. He's excited about the wedding - in less than two months - and he's come home when he said he would several nights in a row. She doesn't want to upset him or the fragile peace they've built.

That's how the idea of date night was born. Arizona offered, with her trademark wide smile. She's so much perkier than anyone Addison's ever liked before, but she's making an exception this time because Callie's in love. Callie and Arizona take Henry for the night and Addison slips into the blue dress Sam's always liked, drapes a gold necklace he gave her around her neck, and waits for him to come home.

Seven passes, then seven-thirty. Eight looms. The doorbell rings.

Curious, she heads for the door. Maybe this is part of the - _date _thing, him coming to pick her up - but no, it's Mark.

She pulls the door open. "Hi."

His eyes slide the length of her appreciatively. "You're dressed up."

"I have a date. He's going to be here any minute."

Mark's expression looks almost like pity.

"What are you doing here?" she asks him finally.

He looks faintly hurt at her tone. "I left my jacket here last week, I think."

She follows him through the living room as he looks. "Mark, I kind of have plans."

He turns around finally, meeting her eyes. "Sam's in surgery, Addison."

"No, we have plans. If there's an emergency, he would have-"

"I saw the board. I went to the gallery."

She looks down at her hands. "We have a date," she says finally, hating how small her voice sounds.

"Found it." Mark holds up his jacket.

"Good." She twists the necklace in her hands. "What kind of a surgery, Mark-"

"He's on hour two," Mark says gently.

"Oh."

The way he's looking at her makes her want to cry. So she takes a deep, shaky breath. "I'm just going to - change. I don't want to wrinkle my dress."

"Do you want me to go?"

She's halfway up the stairs, looks back at him. Silently, she shakes her head.

She descends the stairs again in yoga pants and a tank, cardigan wrapped around her in anticipation of the breeze outside.

Mark's ahead of her, making coffee in the kitchen. "I drove over here," he explains with a shrug, and she's happy with coffee, since she promised Sam she'd be designated driver. He had a stressful day, she knows, and he'd like to drink sometimes and let her drive.

She just smiles gratefully at Mark, because she's cold and the mug of coffee feels good in her hands. She stays in the kitchen, doctoring it, then pads onto the patio and curls up on an empty lounge chair. Mark, who's been looking out at the ocean, walks back toward her.

He eases into the chair next to her - doesn't even wince now: the miraculous healing process. She smiles at him without looking away from the ocean; he reaches for her mug of coffee and takes a sip, then makes a face.

"Sweetener," he frowns.

She shrugs, takes the coffee back. "I like it."

"It tastes different, though."

"I switched to Stevia." She shrugs.

"What, the - natural one?" He permits a little sarcastic inflection on the word _natural. _

"It's California."

"It's different."

"A lot of things are different."

They're quiet for a minute while she sips, and then-

"Try it again," she says, not quite sure why, but it feels important in the moment. She urges the mug toward him. "You might like it."

"You think?"

He meets her eyes, then takes a sip.

_"What are you doing here?"_

_"I was going to watch the game."_

_"Can't you watch it at your own place?"_

_"My cable's on the fritz. And you're supposed to be at dinner. Where's Derek?"_

_"Where do you think?"_

_"And where are your pants?"_

_She looks down, remembers she's wearing just a t-shirt and panties. "I was in the middle of changing when you barged in here - do you mind?"_

_"Not at all," he leers, breaking the tension, and she smiles in spite of herself._

_"Cut it out. I have reservations for two at Lutece and no husband to join me."_

_"And no pants."_

_"Well, you have no cable."_

_"So we're in the same boat."_

_"Guess so. Wait, what are you doing?"_

_He's toeing out of his shoes, heading for the den. "The game, remember?"_

_"You're still going to watch it?"_

_"If you don't mind."_

_"I don't mind."_

_"Why don't you watch it with me?"_

_"The game?"_

_"The game." _

_"Derek might come home."_

_Tactfully, Mark says nothing._

_"Popcorn?" he suggests._

_"So you're the one who burned my good pot. It took me ages to get those kernels loose."_

_"You mean it took the maid ages."_

_"Yes," she says primly. "I'd like popcorn."_

_He bustles around the kitchen and she sits on the counter, watching him. The marble's cold under her thighs. The air smells like sizzling oil, hot and full of promise, and when he brings her a kernel to taste she takes it from his fingers with her lips. Without thinking. _

_For a moment they just look at each other._

_"Derek might come home," Mark echoes quietly._

_"No." It hurts to say it but she knows it's true. "No, he won't." And she closes the distance between them._

_The kiss is hot and desperate, tongues battling for dominance. She grabs him with her legs, crushing him against her, he's caught eagerly between her thighs as he tangles his hands in her long hair, tips her head back, licks salt from her neck. She yanks at his jacket, he lifts her from the counter and they stumble through the hallway still wrapped around each other. His jacket drops at the foot of the stairs, he lifts her again, pressing her to the wall, the evidence that he wants her pushing against her. Then she pushes on him and the stairs give way to the bed. It's a study in shivering contrasts: the softness of the flannel sheets under her, the hardness of him over her. The rough stubble of his jaw against hers, the achingly soft stroke of his fingers on her breast. _

_He stops and frames her face in his hands; she's still swallowing a gasp of pleasure. "What?" she whispers when he looks at her._

_"You're beautiful," he murmurs, and she should laugh, she should think it's just Mark, he's a player and he's playing, but it doesn't feel like a game. The words wrap around her the way his hands do and when she feels him inside her she thinks nothing - certainly nothing this illicit and god what are they doing - but nothing has ever felt this right. She's - happy._

_But then when the door slams open, when Derek stands there with betrayal on his face, in the camel cashmere coat she bought for him, when Addison screams, "No, Derek, you have to listen to me," and pushes hard with both hands to get Mark off of her, when she begs him "Please go, just let me talk to Derek, please go, Mark just GO," and tears run down her face and sweat down her back it's wrong. Everything's wrong and everything is ugly. She pounds miserable fists on the closed door and sobs as her world ends and it's all her fault. She shouldn't have been happy. She shouldn't have been anything. _

"What do you think?"

He pauses for a moment, swirling the coffee in his mouth like it's wine, then slowly nods. "Better."

They share another look. His lips part as if he's going to say something, but she never finds out what it is because she leans forward, closes the gap between them, and kisses him.

Four years melt away. No, seven. Maybe more. Something in the sound of the waves, the lazy salt air, makes it feel like they have all the time in the world. For a long few minutes they just exchange sweet slow kisses, so different from the last time they came together - when he recognizes her fear and sadness and stripped in her office. There's something intensely satisfying about this pace, deeply seductive about the way he's touching her only with his lips, his hands - _oh, those hands - _still resting securely around her coffee mug.

She made the first move every time, she realizes: in New York. In Seattle. In Los Angeles he took his clothes off and presented himself to her but hung back, waiting, waited until she stood up and walked to him and made the decision.

Now it's heady, moonlight in her eyes, the taste of him - her own coffee and something else faintly familiar - and finally, he's the one who draws back.

"What are we doing?"

How many times have they said this to each other? She just knows that this has never been less impulsive yet never felt more imperative. She stands up and catches something flit across his face. Disappointment? He hides it well. She swallows hard, because four years is a long time, seven is even longer, and twenty is unconscionable.

She's already waited too long.

She takes two steps away, turns around, and holds out her hand.

She hasn't seen him move this fast since he was injured - his hand is in hers, the beach melts away and it's cool white sheets and filtered moonlight through delicate linen curtains. It's nothing like the last time in this bed, sad and desperate and not quite honest. Now she runs her hands carefully down his chest, admires the healing scars. The human body is incredible, never ceasing to amaze her even after years practicing medicine. The marks on his chest are those of a survivor and she presses her lips gently to the puckered skin.

"Addison..." His voice is gruff and she wonders if he's embarrassed. His hand meets hers on his hip.

"You're beautiful," she murmurs, like he said to her in New York. Just like that time, it seems it should sound silly but it doesn't. And she feels beautiful under his hands - not her appearance, not the surface, but on some deeper level she's embarrassed to discuss. Some deeper level she didn't get to in therapy because it went too quickly, because she quit - admittedly - before delving into the things she wanted to avoid. That edge of panic, that feeling of _not good enough_ that's plagued her her whole life, the one she's passed quietly from relationship to relationship like a can of paint moved from one house to the next. That's what disappears under his hands.

That's why she feels this so deeply.

His hands skim her body, outlining it like he's remembering. The pads of his fingers are familiar, the rhythm of his breath, the gentle scrape of his chin against her neck. He's so familiar and yet it's different: slow without sadness, passionate without recklessness. She forgets her ring. She forgets her date. She forgets everything except the feel of him, on her, in her, the way his eyes looked in the moonlight when she kissed him, the way her coffee tasted on his lips. She remembers the way he was always there when she needed him and the way he took a step back when she didn't realize she did.

Now he touches her face gently. "What are you thinking about?"

She looks up at him, eyes a shade of blue she can't describe but could always picture. It has something to do with the ocean and the way the water has always called to her, the sense of peace she feels at the beach. The way they always liked the Hamptons and Derek didn't. The way he prodded her - _you deserve better _- but never pushed her, the way he left when she asked and stopped calling when she told him to. It's been so much time. So much wasted time.

He's still looking at her expectantly. "You," she says quietly. "I'm thinking about you."

She reaches for him, pulls him as close as two people can be and feels the muscles in his back, the damaged skin, the healed injuries. He kisses her with infinite tenderness: her jaw, the hollow of her neck, her shoulders. Gooseflesh rises under his lips. She's aching for him, needing him, by the time he slides down her body, mouth lingering at her hips and the faint curve of her belly.

She whispers her name and he looks up at her, the expression in his eyes so open that she's rendered speechless. His tongue finds heated flesh and his fingers follow. She arcs under him, ache giving way to release, and he strokes her quivering thighs as she convulses, moves softly around her body like he's refamiliarizing himself. The ticklish spot behind her knee. The freckle on her ankle bone - he kisses that - and the faint scar on her shin where she fell off her bike. She pushes gently on his shoulders and he responds immediately, rolling both of them over. Straddling him, she leans forward, letting her hair brush over his bare chest, remembering how that used to drive him crazy. Her hair is shorter now but that just means being closer to him. She kisses the plane of his chest, the puckered scars again. She rests the flat of her hand against his heart and thanks whoever is listening that he's here and alive. That he made it.

He whispers her name now, hoarsely, and she rocks against him, enjoying his staggered breathing but wanting to feel him closer. She sinks down, he rises up, and for a moment breath escapes her. Then he utters her name again and she remembers where she is, what she's doing, what it feels to have him underneath, his steadying hands on her hips, the muscular planes of his thighs supporting her weight. The rest of the world fades away with him inside her, and as she leans forward, changing the angle to one she knows he loves and enjoying the feel of his shoulders under her palms, she realizes what she's feeling -

(and even though he asked her a while ago)

(and even though he might have forgotten the question)

she answers him anyway

(because it's Mark)

(and he always wanted to know how she felt).

So she bends closer, lets her lips graze her ear, and whispers the words: _I'm happy._

"What the hell?"

The door swings open and she jerks upright, staring in horror. It can't be.

Cold sweat drips down her back. "Sam, no, it's not-"

He turns around, slamming the door behind him, and Addison hurls herself from the bed, panicking.

She throws a t-shirt on, struggles into her panties, tears running down her cheeks. Mark's in boxers now.

"Sam, Sam!" She runs down the stairs. "Sam, it was one time, Sam, I'm sorry, but-"

"There's a but? There's some explanation for you - in our bed, really, Addison?"

_It's my bed, _she wants to say, for some reason, but instead she just covers her face with her hands for a moment, wishing she could make it all disappear.

Fingers close over her wrists and pull her hands away from her face.

"You can't hide from this, Addison. I deserve an explanation. I deserve-"

"Get your hands off of her."

Mark. He's still here, and he looks perfectly calm, his voice even. He doesn't break eye contact with Sam.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"You have a lot of nerve speaking to me, Sloan." He's still holding her wrists, not hard, but seemingly with no intention of letting go.

"I'm sorry, man," Mark says, still in that calm voice. "Because I know you never wanted me to move here and I'm sure it sucked to walk in on us and I'm sure underneath all of whatever _this _is that you've been doing the last twenty years you're still the guy I liked hanging out with in medical school. So, I'm sorry."

"'_Sorry?'_" Sam's mocking tone grates. "You're _sorry_ for sleeping with my fiancee?"

"No. I'm not sorry for that. I'm sorry for this." And Mark draws back a closed fist and lets it connect solidly with Sam's face.

After that come a few moments of chaos - Sam releases her wrists, stumbles back, grabbing his cheek. He lunges for Mark, who sidesteps him. They grapple briefly, doing no real damage, but all Addison can see is Sam's anger and then she's in New York again and she's cowering on the stairs, begging Derek to forgive her, and his fingers are digging into her arms and the threshold is digging into her feet. There's rain pouring down her face as she beats her fists on the door of what may never be her home again. The walls blur. The windows blur. She feels herself sliding.

"Addison?"

She opens her eyes. It's still blurry but she recognizes the color of his eyes and the shape of his jaw. In another moment he comes into focus.

"What happened?"

"You passed out." He has an arm under her shoulders, holding her off the ground.

"Where's Sam?"

"He left." Mark helps her stand, then eases her into a chair. "Here - drink," and he passes her a glass of water. She drinks slowly, shivering a little, still clad only in a t-shirt and panties.

"He had a right to be mad," Addison says tentatively, looking down at her hands.

"Maybe. But not to touch you like that."

"But I-"

"Doesn't matter what you did."

"You hit him."

"Yeah, I know." Mark flexes his fingers carefully. "I think it hurt me more than it hurt him. The guy has a hard head."

Addison shakes her head. "It's like last time."

"No." Mark sits on the arm of the chair and slowly she lets herself relax against him. The tension of the previous hour eases somewhat. For a moment they sit quietly. "It's different."

"It is?"

"You didn't ask me to leave."

Addison remembers New York, the rain, Derek walking in and then out again, hovering in the hall like a panther while she begged Mark to get out. _Please, just go, I need to talk to Derek. Please, Mark, just go. _

"No, I didn't."

"I'm still here."

"Yeah." She leans back a little more, lets him take slightly more of her weight, share a bit more of the burden. She thinks maybe they can handle it if they're together, that maybe this is the chance they've been waiting for, the one they've been missing for twenty years. She touches the diamond at her left hand, slides the ring from her finger and places it on the table, then returns her bare hand to her lap.

"So it's different," he muses, and he sounds like she feels: full of wonder that something can be inevitable but also a surprise.

"It's different," she agrees.

Tomorrow will be hard. Tomorrow there will be wedding plans to cancel and apologies to make, suitcases to pack and calls to make. Tomorrow she'll have to extricate herself from her mistakes. Today, though, Mark is still here. And the day after tomorrow, he'll be here too. The day after tomorrow they can begin their lives.

She tilts her head toward his, signaling that she's ready for him, and lets him take the next step. It's not just different this time - it's better.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. In case you're wondering, Rachael's prompt was: Sam catches Mark and Addison in bed together (Mark having moved to LA after the season finales). Let me know what you thought of the story, please, and wish Rach a deserved happy birthday!_


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